


O, Christmas Tree

by Ravenshell



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Gen, Turtle Tots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenshell/pseuds/Ravenshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musings and memories of the turtles' Christmas tree.  Includes turtle-tot tales, pranks, and a little light swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O, Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: TMNT 2012 and all characters belong to Nickelodeon/Viacom, and no profit is being made from using them in this fan-work. 
> 
> a/n: an entry for the Christmas Bard contest on tmnt-allstories on devArt. (Please visit and vote! Entries will be up 1/1/16!)
> 
> Lairy Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year, everyone!

In his first two years of caring for the baby turtles, there was no time for decorations, and the little ones had no concept of Christmas or Santa Claus, and had no real need of gifts, but by their third year, Splinter realized that the concept of Christmas was beginning to pervade their little minds. It had started when Splinter had taken them to look at some of the lavishly decorated Christmas trees in their area, lifting each little turtle up to peer through the storm drain. Along the way, Leonardo had come across a Santa Claus doll that had fallen into the sewer, and had asked question after question about the fat little man, his brothers listening to Splinter’s tales raptly… which had just led to more questions about trees and stockings and, most importantly, presents.

Then a wail had suddenly gone up from little Donatello, sharp as a tack even at the age of 3, because he realized they didn’t have a tree, didn’t own any socks, and had no chimney for Santa to come down. Don’s distress quickly spread to the other three, and soon they were all howling about Santa being unable to bring them presents. It had taken a while to get the turtle tots calmed down again, but Splinter had managed to allay their distress by assuring them that Santa would find a way to bring them presents, but only if they were especially good.

Oh, had Splinter only known how that would motivate his sons! The four of them were on their absolute best behavior, all but tripping over one another to do chores around the lair or to do something nice for one another. And they were policing each other: When Mikey made a grab for something at the dinner table, the other three were on him about it. If Raphael put a toe out of line during their playtime, the others scolded him, saying that Santa wouldn’t like that. When Don complained at being put to bed, even Mikey reminded him that Santa was watching their every move. And when Leo was squabbling with Raph over a prolonged turn at sharing a toy, Donnie had suddenly shrieked, “Santa!” at them, and they froze dropped the little car as if it had turned into a hot potato. Leo immediately apologized to Raph, then looked to the ceiling, calling, “Sorry, Santa!”, Raphael echoing him moments later. Both then became very insistent that the other have the car. Splinter was a bit concerned by the level of paranoia the red-clad bestower of gifts had instilled in his sons, yet he couldn’t complain about how nice and polite his boys were being with each other as a result, and it certainly afforded him a silent night and some moments of heavenly peace.

Their good behavior couldn’t go unrewarded, he realized. Such faith in Santa Claus couldn’t go unanswered… not at such an early age; not when the toddlers were just learning to trust. Splinter—and Santa—couldn’t fail them.

Once the tots had fallen deeply asleep one evening, with Christmas only a few days away, the rat-mutant stole out of the lair, heading above ground. Flowing from shadow to shadow, utterly unseen by the few New Yorkers active at this hour, the ninjutsu master made his way to a temporary Christmas tree lot. In one corner, at the back, he found what he was searching for: a pile of discarded evergreen branches. With a small heap of boughs in his arms, he returned to the lair, stood them up in an old coffee can half-filled with rocks, added water to the base, and lashed the branches together with pieces of string so that they stood up in a roughly cylindrical shape. Splinter stood back and surveyed his creation. It looked… nothing like a Christmas tree. It looked more like a hogtied houseplant, but perhaps it would be Christmas tree-like enough for four little turtles who didn’t know any better.

By the awed look on the boys’ faces, the makeshift “tree” had sufficed. “Kimmis twee!” Mikey squealed, pointing at it and clapping his hands. The four little turtles ran quickly to surround the little pot, feeling the soft fir branches, inhaling the evergreen smell, poking their fingers into the stems and coming back with them coated in sticky sap.

“Did Santa bring us a Christmas tree?” Raph asked his smarter brother, slightly confused.

Donatello shook his head. “ ’s not Christmas yet, an’ Santa doesn’t bring Christmas trees… At least, I don’t think he does… Master Splinter?”

The rat smiled. “Do you like your Christmas tree, my sons?”

Three of the turtle tots immediately chorused, “Yeah!”, but Splinter’s oldest son seemed to be reserving judgment.

“Leonardo?” Splinter prompted, a tendril of apprehension that his son might call him on his shabby Christmas tree substitute wrapping itself around his heart.

Leo rubbed his chin in thought. “It’s missing all the shiny stuff,” he declared.

Splinter chuckled low in his chest. “The decorations, yes. We’ll take care of those ourselves. Come.”

The tots spent the morning learning how to fold and cut pieces of newspaper into snowflakes while Splinter told them about how every snowflake was different. Near the end of their crafting, Michelangelo instigated a small snowstorm by gathering the scraps of paper together and throwing them overhead: “Woosh!” His brothers all took his cue, gathering their own piles of scraps together and tossing them in the air until there was a paper blizzard whirling around in the lair and four gleefully laughing turtles and a mirthful old rat, all covered in flecks of newspaper.

When all the paper was cleaned up, Splinter lit a cluster of candles and held a foil-covered aluminum pan over the flames.

“Oh, boy! Are we gonna have popcorn?” Raphael queried excitedly, watching the foil expand as the kernels began to pop.

Splinter smiled. “We may have some, but this is for our next project.”

“Is it for the tree?” Donnie asked.

“Twee!” his younger brother echoed, taking his hand out of his mouth and promptly popping it back in.

“Indeed it is,” the rat grinned. “Leonardo, would you fetch the sewing kit in the top drawer of my nightstand, please.”

“I’ll get it!” Raphael hollered, running in an attempt to overtake Leo.

“No, Raphael… I asked Leonardo—“ he cut himself off with a sigh. Sometimes one had to pick one’s battles… especially with four boys.

Moments later, the two little turtles trotted back out of his room. Raphael clutched the box, Leonardo having relinquished the task to his pushy sibling. Splinter let the issue drop. “Thank you… _both_ of you,” he intoned as he measured out several arm’s lengths of thread. He then threaded a needle and tied the thread off around the leg of the stool he sat on, then carried the needle and popcorn a few yards away, where he sat on the floor. He deftly skewered a piece of popcorn and slid it onto the thread.

“Donatello, would you gently slide this along the thread until it touches the leg of the stool? Don’t push too hard, or the popcorn will break.” Donnie nodded quizzically, but did as he was asked, carefully guiding the kernel along the line. Meanwhile, Splinter pierced another piece of popcorn, this time calling Leonardo to pull it along the thread, then one for Raphael, and finally one for Michelangelo, then it was Donatello’s turn again. The boys began to catch on, and with a bit more confidence, walked faster with their kernels, then began running with them to the end of the garland in a sort of relay race, to a point where Splinter began to find himself being the bottleneck, stringing the popcorn on the needle as fast as he could.

“My popcorn came apart,” Leo reported, showing the broken kernel to his adoptive father.

“Then, you must be more careful with the next one,” Splinter instructed. “But you must wait your turn.”

“Father, Mikey keeps eating the ones I just got through with!” Raphael complained, pointing at his brother. Splinter chuckled lightly, knowing what a bottomless pit his littlest was.

“It is all right, Raphael. We will have plenty,” but nonetheless, he called, “Michelangelo, please stop eating our project!”

The yards of thread were swiftly covered, and Splinter tied off the end, knotting the thread around a final kernel. He unhooked the loop around the leg of the stool, hanging it around the points of the branches at the top, then wound the garland around the tree, spiraling it down to the base. He then lifted each of the boys up so that they could hang their snowflakes among the boughs.

“What do you think of our tree now, my sons?” Splinter asked.

Michelangelo clapped his hands together in approval. Raphael grinned widely. Donatello declared, “It’s byooootiful!”

But once again, Leonardo was hesitant. Splinter waited patiently for his eldest’s verdict. “The ones outside have things on the top… It needs a star.”

“A star, you say…” Splinter stroked his thin, short beard in contemplation. “Hmm…” Walking to his room, he took a small black lacquered box from a high shelf, one that kept sharp weapons away from curious little turtle hands. Opening it, he looked over his collection of shuriken, finally selecting an eight-pointed gold and black throwing star. After returning the box to its place, he carried the shuriken back to his waiting sons, holding it between two fingers. “Will this do?”

The four oohed at the shining metal. Raphael reached out a hand to grab the sharp object, but Master Splinter pulled it away from his grasping hand before Raphael could poke or cut himself on it. Raph let out a whimper of dismay, but it only took Donatello whispering, “Santa!” at him to cease his complaint and whip his hands to his sides, stiffening and standing as straight as a soldier called to attention.

Splinter nestled the star securely in the apex of the cluster of boughs. “There. What do you think?” he repeated. To his adult eye, it still looked like a houseplant had had an unfortunate accident with a roll of twine… but it certainly looked merrier now: decked with white stripes of garland, strewn with newspaper snowflakes—the ones made from the funny pages standing out with their bright colors—and the shiny shuriken above it all.

The eyes of his three younger brothers focused on Leo, awaiting the final assessment. “It’s still not as pretty as the humans’ trees… it doesn’t have the lights or the shiny balls… but ours is better, because we made it ourselves. It’s perfect!”

The old rat smiled at his son. “Well said, Leonardo.”

Leo ran up to look their accomplishment over once more before turning back to Splinter, while his brothers looked the tree over from every angle. “D’you think Santa will like it?”

A smile graced Splinter’s face. “I believe he will.”

“Enough to leave us presents?”

Splinter’s smile became a bit more wry. “I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” he chuckled, but noted the apprehensive look that fell on Leonardo’s features. “Santa Claus doesn’t judge on how pretty one’s Christmas tree is, but how good the children have been all year. And all of you, my sons, have been very good,” he assured them all as they gathered again at his feet.

“Even when Raphie dumped all the cereal out of the box?” Donnie queried.

“Even then,” the master laughed.

“Even when Mikey put all the worms in the algae tank to teach them to swim?” Donatello pressed further.

Splinter shook his head, remembering the incident. “Even after that.”

“Even when—“

“Donatello!” Splinter interrupted his curious son. “Santa can forgive some of the little mistakes we’ve made, as long as we have been good for the most part.” His sons continued staring up at him nervously. “Still… I suppose it couldn’t hurt to put out some milk and cookies for him, could it?”

The faces of the four little turtles beamed. “We get to make cookies!” Raph whooped.

“Cooky!” Mikey cheered, scrambling after his brother toward the kitchen, tripping and falling on his plastron, but Donnie helped him up and he ran onward as if nothing had happened. Splinter sighed. Thank goodness for turtle shells.

“Sensei, does Santa even like algae cookies?” Leo asked as he walked to the kitchen, hand-in-hand with his father.

Splinter laughed merrily. “We shall see.”

 

Since their first Christmas, they had always put up a “tree.” In later years, Donnie cobbled together the rough frame of a tree out of rebar and clothes hangers, and also thanks to Don’s know-how, they now had electricity to string the tree with lights. Before they were allowed to go out on their own, Splinter had ventured topside each year to snatch discarded evergreen branches, and the turtles spent an evening tying the boughs to their wire “tree” with bits of red and green ribbon and white string, and then hanging their collection of homemade ornaments together. Since they were allowed out of the lair on their own now, the task now fell to the four of them, and with four pairs of arms to carry branches, the tree looked much fuller, though it meant much more work tying branches to wires.

The lair would smell fresh and piney for a few weeks, which everyone enjoyed. That scent was always Raphael’s favorite part… it was freeing, somehow, as if they had brought a piece of nature into their home, and the essence of it drove back the sour stench of city and sewer. It was a scent of calm, soothing to the senses, and one he associated with this time of year. He paused after fastening a red ribbon around a bough, letting the soft, tender needles brush over his skin. He reached down to the base of the stick, collecting the drop of pitch, the tree’s life blood, on his fingers. He raised it to his nose, inhaling the pungent scent, imagining himself in a great forest of the trees, with birds and squirrels twittering and chittering overhead. Real nature. He sighed, knowing it was an illusion; he knew full well how these trees were farmed, in long, straight rows, bred for their shape, as truly wild as domesticated as cattle, and cut down in their prime for a trivial human festival. It rankled him slightly, and made him roll his eyes at himself, feeling sorry for some damn trees and cut branches.

He sniffed the sap on his hand again, knowing how quickly it would be gone. In a couple of weeks, the branches would fade and the needles would fall off, and the Christmas magic would be over; the decorations and lights stripped off and the wire and rebar packed up and stored for the next year… so it was also a scent he associated with something fleeting, there and then gone. He felt it a bit ironic, for something supposedly “ever-green.” But he’d enjoy it while he could.

 

Master Splinter brought out their box of ornaments, which, to him, was also a box of reminiscences. Each year since their first tree, up until more recent years, the boys had made a new ornament to decorate their “tree” with. Splinter saved some of the decorations from each year, and the box of ornaments also became a sort of time capsule, and a history of their Christmases. From their second Christmas, Splinter had saved some of their paper-chain garland, made from the boys’ favorite colors. One year, Splinter had come across the remains of a sack of plaster of paris… just enough to make handprints of four little turtles, and these were drilled and tied with yarn for hanging. Another, they had made reindeer out of corks and sticks. The crafts evolved over the years from the crudely-made snowflakes to construction paper or felt cutouts to complex origami.

The works of one son, however, always stood out above the rest for their precision and complexity over the years, and even after his brothers had lost interest in crafting a new ornament each year, Splinter’s most creative boy had continued the tradition.

 

Donatello loved their ornaments, and felt a bit of accomplishment in each one. For the three years after his siblings had given up on making decorations, Don had made a set by himself, and gave them to his brothers and sensei as gifts. When they were twelve, it was simply pressed metal cutouts… Christmas shapes with each of their names etched into them. His brothers had implored him that he needed to make one for himself, to complete the set.

The following year, he’d constructed fragile-looking miniature toys for each of them out of aluminum cans, the reds and oranges and blues standing out against the silver on a Coke-can motorcycle for Raphael, a Fanta-can ship with unfurled sails for Mikey, a Pepsi spaceship for Leonardo, and a Dr. Pepper biplane with a propeller that really moved for his father. And again, his brothers insisted he make one for himself so that there was one for everyone. Don was pleased that his brothers enjoyed their gifts… he would never admit to how many times he’d cut himself on the sharp metal edges of the cans. So he’d set about putting together a miniature aluminum Model-T for himself from a couple of grape soda cans.

The next year, and the last time he’d had a chance to made ornaments for his brothers, was Don’s crowning achievement: personal wind-up toys. Mikey’s was a reindeer (with an orange mask) that bobbed its head and ran in midair. Raphael had a Santa Claus (red-masked) whose belly jiggled. Leo’s elf (in a blue mask) kicked its legs out, doing the splits. Master Splinter’s was a snowman (wearing burgundy kimono) that lifted its hat. And, anticipating the need for one for himself, he’d constructed a purple-masked boy on a sled that tilted to ride up and down invisible snowy hills.

 

The previous year had been too tumultuous for any holiday festivities, with Splinter missing and Leo lying comatose in a bathtub at the farmhouse… Don hadn’t been in the mood to make anything festive. This year, though, they were all back home, safe and sound, and while he had made other, more practical gifts for his brothers this year, he found himself wanting to complete the set of windups, since their team had grown.

“This one’s for you,” he said, blushing slightly as he held the little copper-haired singing angel out to April by its ribbon.

“She’s beautiful…” April smiled back, accepting the gift and winding the little toy up. The angel raised and fluttered its intricately-feathered wings as its tiny feet circled back and forth beneath its white robe. When its motions slowed, she wound it up again, enchanted with the little machine. “Thank you, Donnie… She’s precious! Let’s hang her right… here!” April selected a high branch for the ornament, hanging it, to Don’s pride, right at eye-level, the most prominent place on the tree.

He fixed a loving look on her, leaning toward her, when his view was suddenly obstructed by someone much less appealing. “Hey, D… Where’s mine?”

Don gave a somewhat disgusted sigh as Casey jumped between he and April. “And just what makes you think _you_ get one? “ he breezed, turning a poker-faced look on the human teen, a corner of his mouth turning up after a second.

Casey laughed. “Come on, Donnie… I know that smirk! Besides, Raph told me he saw you working on it.”

The purple-masked turtle kept him in suspense for another moment or two, then dropped the act. “All right, yes, I made you one too,” he conceded, pulling a small box from beneath the tree. “This one’s yours.”

Casey yanked the top off the box, tossing it over his shoulder as he pulled the ornament out and wound it up. The little black-clad hockey player moved its stick, knocking a tiny puck back and forth. “Wicked-awesome, D!”

“So what’d you get me?” Casey fell back on the bench behind him, arms splayed over its back. With a proud gesture, he shuttered his eyes and began to open his mouth, when Don interrupted sourly, “If it’s being in your presence, I’m re-gifting it.” April giggled in response.

“You’re a cold turtle, Don,” Jones grumbled jokingly, then pulled a wide box out from under the tree. “Actually, this is for you.”

Don looked skeptical, but tore off the paper and shifted the lid off. He looked quizzically down at an oversized set of sweats and a purple ski-mask. “Thank… you…?” he said with a befuddled look. Casey seemed enthused at Donnie’s confusion, then turned to April with an envelope in hand. “And these are for you, Red.”

April opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. “Seasons tickets to all the Vikings’ games… for two?”

Casey gave them a wide gapped grin, waiting for them to put the pieces together. “ ’s so you and Don can come to all my games!”

“Oh!” April exclaimed. “Thank you, Casey!”

“Oh...” echoed Don, with much less enthusiasm. “Thank you, Casey…”

The boy smirked, giving Don a wink. “I don’t mind if you cheer for the other team, D… Besides, they need all the help they can get. Ya know… because I’m so awesome.”

Donnie chuckled. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind watching them wax _your_ butt. So, thanks.” Plus, he realized, it meant sitting next to April in the stands… but he kept that to himself, lest Casey decide to arrange for someone else to surreptitiously chaperone.

 

Mikey sat by, watching everyone opening their presents. He loved presents… loved giving them, loved getting them, loved seeing them sitting below the tree, wrapped in colorful holiday patterns. A present wasn’t a present until it was sitting under the tree, in Mikey’s book, and any presents that were brought in by visitors were required to sit under the Christmas tree for at least 30 seconds before being opened —the extent of hyperactive Michelangelo’s tolerance—to absorb the proper amount of Christmas spirit from being beneath the evergreen boughs.

Mikey had wondered once what it would be like to be a Christmas present, so he’d wrapped a cardboard box, leaving the bottom side open, and slipped inside, sitting inside it, waiting for his brothers to come and unwrap him. Much of it, he found, was sitting and waiting endlessly for everyone to wake up on Christmas morning… waiting entailed a lot of shifting around in his box, humming all the Christmas songs he knew, inhaling the fresh scent of the tree, rocking back and forth on his shell, and coming up with names for his toes. Finally, he heard his brothers and father stirring.

“Where’s Mikey?” Donnie yawned. “Usually he’s the first one up, screaming so we’ll get up to open presents…” Mikey stifled a giggle.

“Mikey, presents!” Leo hollered back towards his youngest brother’s room. “Come on, Mikey, get up!”

“Michelangelo!” Splinter called, a note of amusement in his usually stern voice. “Hmm… I suppose he’s not coming.”

“Do we have to wait for ‘im?” Raphael huffed impatiently. “If he’s not coming, I’m taking all his presents!”

Mikey gasped. They wouldn’t! Sensei wouldn’t let Raph have all his gifts… would he?

“Well then… if Michelangelo isn’t coming, perhaps we should start without him.”

Leo protested, ”But Sensei, that’s not f—“ but didn’t finish his sentence as his sensei interrupted.

“Perhaps we should start with the biggest present here, hmm?” Splinter suggested. “What do you think it is?”

“A bike!” shouted Raph.

“A chemistry set!” Donnie squealed.

“A full set of Space Heroes comic books!” piped Leo.

“I know…” said Raph. “Let’s shake it!”

Mikey paled. He let out a little squeak as the box started rattling around him. It made a lot of noise in the small space, which spooked him. His shell bumped against the side of the box, scootching it slightly as he tried to escape the startling shaking.

“It moved!”

“Maybe it’s a hermit crab!”

“Get it!”

Shoving his hands against the cardboard at the top, he lifted his packaging and ran blindly. He immediately smacked into one of his brothers—Leo, by the sound of the ‘oof!’ he let out—then changed direction, zigzagging across the lair until he bumped into something, falling back onto his shell with a thump. He lifted the box slightly, seeing Sensei’s clawed, furred feet.

“Ah,” said Splinter, “this one is for me, apparently. It’s even delivered itself!” Mikey felt the box lift up and away from him. “Oho! Just what I wanted for Christmas…” Splinter chuckled, setting the box aside and picking up the mischievous little occupant. “…A box-turtle!” Mikey giggled, hugging his father around the neck. “And what a wonderful gift you are, my son, to bring us all such joy and merriment!”

“You mean it, Sensei?” Mikey beamed.

The rat nodded. “Of course! The four of you are the best gifts I could hope to have.” The rest of the turtles clustered at his feet, and he set Michelangelo down among them.

Leo grinned at his little brother. Raphael smirked, amused. Donnie gave him a wry frown. “I would rather have had the hermit crab…”

 

Raph came over to him, hands on his hips. “All right, Dr. Prankenbutt, which one is it?”

“Which one’s what?” Mikey replied with impishly feigned innocence.

“You know what… The rubber cockroach. Is it this one?”

“There’s no rubber cockroach,” Mikey informed him with straight-faced confidence.

“Suuure, there isn’t. It’s been your standard prank for the past five years.” Raph shook the square red box. “It’s this one… ‘s too light to be anything else. Let’s get this out of the way…” the red-banded turtle tore the paper away, popping the fitted lid off and throwing it aside. He peered inside and reached a hand in. “Uh huh, see, I knew this was—OH JESUS CHRIST, IT’S REAL!!” Raph squealed, dropping the box and doing a frantic dance to get away from it as its captive made a bid for freedom and scuttled off into the dojo. “DAMMIT, MIKEY!” Raph screamed, running after his brother who was already halfway across the lair and laughing hysterically.

 

Leo sat back on the bench beside the tree, enjoying the gifts he’d gotten thus far: a box of fudge and cookies from April, some rare, musky incense from Splinter, and some new oils for maintaining his ninjaken from Raph. Mikey dashed by, pitching another gift in his lap as Raphael pursued him around the room. “Lairy Christmas, Leo!” he called on his way past.

The leader grinned back. “Lairy Christmas, Mikey!” he replied, repeating the pun the turtles and their sensei had used since Mikey had come up with it when they were nine. He calmly unwrapped Mikey’s present—a Captain Ryan bobble-head—smiled at his brother’s thoughtfulness, and looked around at his family and friends… Don, April and Casey laughing and joking together, Raph tackling and pinning Mikey for his traditional post-cockroach noogie, Master Splinter watching the festivities with dancing eyes. Having everyone together around the tree gave Leo a sense of tranquility, despite all the activity going on around him, the deep, soft greens and cozy glow of the tiny lights lending a calmness to the scene.

Their tree represented a feeling of home and security… The fact that they were all together, hale, hearty, and happy, and feeeling safe enough to celebrate, spoke measures, especially given that _he_ had been the one out cold for the previous Christmas. It was as if those few cut evergreen branches could stave off all of their enemies, all the evil and threats around them beaten back by pure magic of Christmas, bringing them peace.

Yes, peace, he thought, even as Raph and Mikey tussled past him on the floor, hollering at each other, peace was something often missing from their lives. It was hard to come by when one lived by the sword. Yet for these few blessed days, they were granted some precious moments of it. He was grateful that his family could enjoy it now… though there was still one member missing.

Splinter approached him, a small cup of green tea in each hand. “Lairy Christmas, Sensei!” Leo greeted.

“Lairy Christmas, my son, and thank you for the new tanto.” He passed one of the teacups to Leo as he sat down beside him. “What do you think of our tree this year?”

Leo smiled. It had always come to him to pass judgment on their Christmas tree each year. His eyes glanced over the assortment of decorations they had accumulated over the years and fixed on the black-and-gold shuriken, as always, adorning the top. “It’s perfect,” he stated, which was always his traditional answer. But he sighed. “I just wish Karai could be here to share it with us.”

Splinter nodded knowingly. “One day, eventually, she shall. Of this, I am certain.”

Nothing more was said, the two of them merely enjoying the tranquility and the merriness around them.

 

 


End file.
